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It was a great trip…

The other night I was at my moms being treated to a glorious night of dinner that I didn’t have to prepare, when we realized we were out of a necessary ingredient to the evening’s soiree. I (being the only person who had a drivers license and no cast) volunteered to slip out and grab said ingredient so the festivities could begin.

As I rounded the corner on the front step, my foot must have caught a loose flagstone and I began a journey that made my life flash before my eyes. I hurtled forward in what seemed like slow motion, stumbling in a limbo of almost falling for several seconds, partially convinced that recovery was still an option. It was very shortly thereafter that I realized the forward momentum of my fall was not going to be stopped by the feeble flailing of my legs in an attempt to catch up, and I succumbed to my descent to the waiting pavement below.

And down I went...

There is something magical about taking a spectacular fall that no other human being has witnessed. It is almost tragic that such a magnificent tumble should not be talked about for years to come. As I hit the ground, i was still. Laying in my own puddle of embarrassment, agony and shame, I surveyed the damage. I won’t lie, more than my pride was hurt. I had smashed my hand, knee and wrenched several parts of my back. HARD. I was thinking that it was going to be pretty weird to be brought to the emergency room by my broken-legged mother.

I guess I come by it honestly. My own mother surely holds the record for the most bone-shattering injuries not resulting in death or dismemberment. If there is a way to trip, bump or fall into or over something, my mom will find it. In the last few years, I have seen her bust 2 ankles, have 2 knees replaced, break nearly all the bones in one of her hands, shatter her wrist, and have a scalp laceration that cleaved right to the bone. Now that’s an impressive list of injured extremities!

I assessed the situation, and having decided I was okay, I gingerly got up, dusted the gravel out of my wounds. I marveled at the relatively small amount of damage that had been caused, despite the epic nature of the launch. As much as I would enjoy seeing it myself, I’m glad there was no video evidence of the incident.
It also occurred to me that I am approaching the age that such pratfalls may very well start to result in some serious down time. Let’s be honest, my cat-like reflexes are not what they once were, and to be fair, they were never all that great to start with. I am still young enough to withstand a fall that will eventually break my wrist, shatter my knee and cause me to require a hip replacement in the future, but for how much longer?

This scares me. It’s not because I am particularly clumsy, because I’m no worse than the next person I suppose. It’s because there will come a time in the future when, as careful as I am, I cannot avoid the occasional fall which might result in a serious injury. Never before has my future feeble-ness slapped me more in the face than this past year. It is with increasing sadness that I realize that I am not infallible, and I probably never was. I have been lucky up to this point. Lucky, because I have not taken many extraordinary chances, and I have always come out of any close-call completely unscathed.

Last summer, I played ball for the first time in years, and in one of my forgettable turns as catcher, I dove after a foul ball which I completely missed. I ended up laid out at home plate with two scraped up arms, a bruised and cut knee, turning the deepest shade of scarlet I can imagine. I licked those wounds for nearly a week! How horrifying to end up injured when you DIDN’T EVEN CATCH THE BALL???!!!??

It was just like this, except with me as the injured party, and way less interest from my team mates...

I hear I am invited back next year, but it is more on the basis of my personality than my baseball prowess.

I guess my point, and I do have one, is that there is not much I can do about advancing age, and the possibility that one of these days I might actually acquire an injury more serious that my usual little boo boos. I am glad that the Birdman and I are not a couple who is interested in extreme sports. We aren’t really interested in any sports, actually. We will mostly be devoting our future athletic energies to cocooning and beer-league baseball, both of which promise lots of fun, the best of friends, and the occasional need for cleats.